Ambiguities
by ElfMaidenOfLight
Summary: Post Deathly Hallows. Draco Malfoy finds himself standing in the middle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, yet he doesn't remember how he got there and everything seems to be out of place. What's happening to him?


A/n- I'm glad to be back into writing Dramione. I took a long break, wrote some of my own stuff, and read some really awesome Dramione fanfiction. Oh, and this has no bearing on my other fanfiction; it stands alone! (And the title use to be 'Disambiguation' but I have a lot of stories starting with 'd'; so I kind of changed it).

Disclaimer: Only the plot.

Summary: Post Deathly Hallows; Voldemort has been defeated for about three years (Draco was on the Order's side).

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**Ambiguities**

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Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was as crisp and golden as an apple. It was cold; yet Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was always just a tad warmer then the chilly air outside; no doubt by a spell thought up by the _keen_ witches and wizards at the Ministry.

The grey plumes of smoke bellowing from beneath the wheels of the Hogwarts Express filled the station with an unnatural heaviness; shrouding the many parents who were currently escorting their sons and daughters towards the tracks' edge.

Draco Malfoy stood separate from the crowd; his body slumped against the brickwork wall.

Grey eyes slits, he tried to focus. Being completely frank, he wasn't quite sure what he was doing there.

He _knew_ he was too old to be getting on the Hogwarts Express. The war had been over; he had just turned twenty. What purpose would the school train be for him now? Hogwarts held no use for him.

There was that attack on the Express by that group of Deatheaters two winters ago…

But that had been dealt with.

Why would he just all of a sudden appear at the Platform? And, besides that, why did everything seem so... wrong?

Absently, he worked a finger under his shirt collar, molten mercury eyes shifted from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face.

There was a tug upon his long jacket.

"Father?" The voice was breathy, yet stern; a young chirp.

For a moment, Malfoy wasn't sure that he was the one being addressed. It was absurd. He counted to five, eyelids fluttering closed, hand curling into a fist convulsively.

Another tug on his jacket.

Draco looked down, ready to wave off the overzealous child. Instead, Draco looked down and gaped, open mouthed, at the small eleven year old _blonde_ child.

Malfoy swallowed, hard. "What?" His voice was a breathless whisper.

"Father; the train is leaving soon."

Malfoy paused for a moment, looking slowly from left to right, unsure if this wasn't some joke being played on him. Then he bent down on his knee and looked the boy straight in the eyes. Same pale hair, same pointed face, same perfect nose- and the eyes, a delicate shade of grey. Spitting image.

The boy seemed uncomfortable at being so close to an adult; so close to _him_. He squirmed where he stood; looking away. "I'm going now, to school."

Not much of a response, but Draco simply nodded, his lips still parted in confusion.

What was going on?

Absently, Draco reached out and placed a hand on the small boy's shoulder. The boy's eyes flickered away to Draco's left; Malfoy followed his gaze.

There, along the Platform, the steam had thinned for a moment, and a group of people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist. A few of the figures caught Draco's eye.

A tall man, a vague cross between the Weasel and the Weasel's father, leaned in towards whom Malfoy could only assume was Harry Potter. The freckle faced Weasley said something, his lips moving slightly.

At the motion, Potter looked up and over to where Draco crouched, a hand still on the small boy. He seemed to nod.

An unpleasant and painful writhing feeling started in Draco's stomach.

Slowly, the blonde boy took hold of Malfoy's hand and gently removed it. "I'm going now." The boy turned and trudged towards the nearest train compartment door, his trunk rolling along behind him.

Straitening up, Draco watched in silence as the boy turned to take one last look at him. There was a hopefulness in his eyes, a kind of genuine sparkle.

As one of the conductors pushed the trunk onto the train, the blonde boy raised his arm at Malfoy; a heartfelt wave. Draco didn't move; he just stared.

The effect of Malfoy's stoicism was doubtless, and swift; the boy's shoulders dropped, his head turned away, he bit his lip. The sliding door to the train swung closed and the conductor's whistle sounded- high pitched and grating.

Unsure, Draco took a few steps forward, feeling even more disoriented and confused.

What was this? Why has he-?

Was this a dream? Was he hallucinating? One moment he was twenty, the war had just been won, and now… now he was sending his- dare he say it- his _son_ off to Hogwarts?

It was a coma, wasn't it? During the final battle he'd been hit too hard, a spell that went awry.

No, no, that was wrong, all wrong.

He had… the Imperius Curse? Was this a curse?

Draco's heart was pounding against his chest; he felt trapped. Absently, he ran his left hand through his hair… and then paused. A second strange thrill erupted in the pit of his stomach.

Bringing down his fingers in front of his face, Malfoy was shocked to see a thin silver band wound round his ring finger.

A swell of sick happiness and joy overtook him.

Momentarily, Draco didn't care if he was having an episode, or an attack, or what have you. He didn't care if this was a hallucination. He didn't _care_. If this was real… if _this_ was real… that meant he was... and with her?

Malfoy looked up, looked around, desperate for some other sign. He _had_ seen Potter and the Weasel hadn't he? He could just ask them.

Draco took a forceful step forward; then stopped.

Along side the Weasley a petite woman clung. Bushy hair, warm eyes, a smile framing her perfect lips; she was glowing.

Hermione Granger?

Lead instantly filled his heat.

Why was she-

As if she had been reading his mind, the women's eyes flickered over. Breathless, Malfoy held her gaze, unmoving.

The faintest tinge of pink flushed her cheeks; she looked away and down, abashed.

That was impossible. It was- why was it so impossible?

Pain and jealousy flamed instantly within his heart. How could she stand there with Weasley like that? It broke his heart.

And just like that, she was walking away from him, walking down into the mist that shrouded the end of the platform from his view.

The throngs of people cramming into the Station pushed and pulled against Draco's body; a cold tide that was trying to force him away.

Twisting his gaze from Hermione's back, Malfoy fought back the familiar anger and sarcastic bitterness. That rage blurred his vision, causing him to see red. His chest heaved, the faintest twinge of claustrophobia overtaking him.

The walls of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters were spinning.

The sharp sting of the pavement on his knees sent shockwaves of pain up and down Draco's legs as he crumpled.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

He curled his fists within his hair, mouth open, pupils dilated; shaking.

A burst of light out of the corner of his eye made Malfoy twist upon the ground, his blond hair scraping against the dirty floor ; his wand appearing out of nowhere and suddenly in his hand.

Above him Dementors, Aurors, Deatheaters, men he had killed in his impertinent youth, all loomed above him; all poised to strike him down.

A harsh cry ripped from Draco's throat as he tried to will a spell- any spell- out of the tip of his Hawthorn wand.

Nothing came. His voice was gone from him, no matter how much he tried to conjure breath back from the bottom of his lungs.

Malfoy screwed his eyes shut, a second scream escaping his lungs.

"Draco! Draco!"

Malfoy's eyes snapped open; the canopy of his bed falling into sharp relief in contrast against the dark, lofting ceiling of his room. The sheets were sticking to his skin; and his fingers were tangled in his hair.

"Draco, it's just a dream. Shh, breathe, please."

Slowly, Malfoy filled his lungs, raising an un-ringed hand to his forehead. It was slick with sweat.

"It's the nightmares again, isn't it?" A soft, concerned voice was in his ear. A hand was on his bare chest as it heaved up and down.

Turning over under the heavy comforter, Draco came nose to nose with the other occupant in his bed.

"Harry mentioned that Ginny was having problems sleeping too…"

"Oh, wonderful," Draco's voice was rough and deep and frozen with the forced lightheartedness, "compare me to the Weasel brat."

Hermione smiled, albeit reserved, and even in the darkness of the room Malfoy could see the sparkle within her eyes. Her face fell, and she drew herself closer towards his body, pressing herself to his side.

Her breath tickled his neck, soothing him, ebbing the terror that had been so real just moments before. "What was it this time?" She trailed her hand from his hairline down to his collarbone, trying to comfort him.

Draco swallowed. "It was… different. Not just me waking up in a dark alleyway battling Deatheaters. We were… older." Softly, Hermione kissed his lips; Malfoy cupped her chin. "I think…." And the images of the little blonde boy longing for his affections on the platform swam before his eyes. "I had a son in this dream… I think."

Inside, Malfoy was still shaken, still unnerved.

It had felt so _real_.

At this, Hermione slid a little closer, obviously misinterpreting the information. Her forehead came to a rest against his. "Really? And where was I?"

Malfoy looked away. "You weren't there...," He nearly couldn't say it, "you were with Weasley."

There was a snort of laughing.

"With- with Ron?!" Hermione blanched, raising both her eyebrows in surprise and mild distaste.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. "Well, well I thought… it was a very vivid dream, and you know how he's always fancied you."

Another laugh- lighter this time- and Hermione took the opportunity to shift her weight over, rolling herself on top of the Slytherin. "I think tomorrow I'll cook up some sleeping potion." She dipped down to nip his ear.

"I don't need it," Malfoy's traitorous body was defusing the harsh tone in his words. "Nothings wrong with me."

Sitting up a little, Hermione regarded him. "There's a name for this, you know, Muggles call it _stress _or _tramma_." Draco looked indignant; he raised an eyebrow but she contnued. "You were fighting for your life, no wonder you're having night terrors." She dipped down again and captured his lips with hers. "And you don't need to worry about Ron."

"Don't I now?" Malfoy pressed her to him, his hands firmly cupping Hermione's upper arms. Her hand unwound from around his neck and trailed down his side to slip under the satin sheets.

"Just relax… I promise no more nightmares."

"Hermione?" His lips made a path from the corner of her mouth, up her jaw line to her ear, and back again while her fingers traced lines of fire down his sides; lower, and lower…

"Hmm?" She sighed, breathless against the heat of his shoulder.

His voice was a rough murmur, "thank you."

Laughter.

"For what?"

"You."

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**F****in**

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A/n-

Just a short little drabble for you guys! I'd like to thank Mika (D a r k n e s s in H e a r t) and Izzy (Dwindlingcandle) for beta'en and editing the oneshot- you guys are amazingly cool!!

Please review!


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